So a pal and fellow blogger hooked me up with a great dermatologist friend of his yesterday and all is clear on the skin front. Not only do I not have skin cancer, the suspect "areas" aren't even moles -- they're some kind of fancy way of saying "age spots." "You're getting old" is how the doctor explained it. (Could a jar of Porcelana be in my near future?)
I was so giddy and relieved by the diagnosis that I ended up walking home from 64th and Park Avenue, which if you know anything about Manhattan is nearly 4 miles from my apartment. It was hot and humid out, but by the time I cut over a block I suddenly had that old Kirsty MacColl song "Walking Down Madison" in my mind, and I just kept going. I saw Central Park and the Plaza Hotel off to my right, but stayed on my path until I hit Madison Square Park (above), a place I recall fondly from visits to the city long before I moved here. I used to read there while my then-boyfriend Rafael would visit his customers from his leather good business. Living in the city it's easy to take things for granted, but after self-diagnosing melanoma (and three months to live), the good news gave me good reason to stop and smell the proverbial roses (or something along those lines).
I was so giddy and relieved by the diagnosis that I ended up walking home from 64th and Park Avenue, which if you know anything about Manhattan is nearly 4 miles from my apartment. It was hot and humid out, but by the time I cut over a block I suddenly had that old Kirsty MacColl song "Walking Down Madison" in my mind, and I just kept going. I saw Central Park and the Plaza Hotel off to my right, but stayed on my path until I hit Madison Square Park (above), a place I recall fondly from visits to the city long before I moved here. I used to read there while my then-boyfriend Rafael would visit his customers from his leather good business. Living in the city it's easy to take things for granted, but after self-diagnosing melanoma (and three months to live), the good news gave me good reason to stop and smell the proverbial roses (or something along those lines).
4 comments:
I *LOVE* that song! It's such a shame she died because she had a lot of talent.
Did you know she penned Tracy Ulman's "They Don't Know About Us?"
From an uptown apartment to a knife on the A Train...it's a long way down.
...er, it's not that far, rather.
Well, I hardly live in the penthouse, but I'm pretty sure there are no rats in my basement :-)
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